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Authors: Gemma Halliday
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murderer.”
“Mom!”
“Hartley, we have several witnesses that say you were upset after school yesterday,” Raley said, jumping in.
I narrowed my eyes. “Upset?”
“Angry.”
“Who said?”
“Witnesses.”
“You know teenagers—they tend to be a little overdramatic.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Considering the drama—overdone as it may have been—let’s say Josh knew how upset you were. Knew that you intended to confront Courtney, thought Courtney would come clean to you about their relationship. Let’s say he didn’t want that. Let’s say he decided Courtney needed to be kept quiet.”
I pursed my lips. Since he hadn’t phrased it as a question, I didn’t feel compelled to answer.
“Relationship? What relationship?” Mom asked.
As far as Mom knew, my entire relationship with Josh consisted of movies at the mall and holding hands at the school dances. I was pretty sure that she was as acquainted with denial as I was when it came to teen sex.
Which is why when Raley opened his mouth to answer, I jumped in first.
“Science partner! Courtney was working on a science project with him. About reproduction.”
Raley raised an eyebrow at me. But thankfully he let it go.
“Is it safe to send Hartley to school?” Mom asked. “Maybe I should keep her home for a few days.”
“I’m sure it’s safe for her to return to school.”
“But wasn’t she some sort of witness?”
“After the fact.”
“Do witnesses after the fact need witness protection?”
I rolled my eyes.
I could see Raley resisting the urge to do the same.
“I believe she’s safe, Mrs. Featherstone. This feels like an isolated incident.”
“I saw a TV show about this on Lifetime just the other day. The woman went into witness protection, but the killer found her anyway. What if the killer finds her anyway? What guarantee do you have that she’ll be safe?”
“I assure you that we’re doing all we can to find the person who committed this crime, Mrs. Featherstone.”
“You mean Josh.”
But Raley had mastered the art of noncommittal. “I’m sure once we talk to Mr. DuPont, he’ll be able to clear up quite a few things for us.”
You and me both, pal.
SEVEN
ONCE RALEY LEFT, MOM JUMPED RIGHT INTO THE kitchen, making me comfort food that she insisted I needed after my “harrowing brush with death.” I thought about telling her that rice noodle macaroni with soy cheese was not exactly my idea of comfort, but I figured it was easier to let her cook her anxiety away.
Not that that stopped her from going into overprotective mode with a vengeance when my dad called.
“She may need witness protection!” she yelled into the phone.
“I’m fine, Mom!” I said.
“She said she’s fine,” Mom relayed into the receiver, “but I don’t think she is. She looks pale.”
“I’m right here, you know.”
“I’m worried about her, Brian. I think maybe we should go away for a while. Maybe we should go stay at my mother’s.”
I did an internal shudder. I’d already spent four weeks this summer surrounded by Bengay and Polident. That was more than anyone deserved in one calendar year. “Mom, I’m fine, I swear,” I said, around a bite of mac and faux cheese. I shoveled more noodles into my mouth as if to prove my point. “See? Fine.”
A plate and a half later I finally managed to convince Mom I was duly comforted, not about to be hacked to death by my boyfr—er, ex- boyfriend—and fine to attend school tomorrow.
I rinsed my dishes off and hightailed it to my room to escape further coddling.
8:06.
I logged onto MySpace, just in case Josh was early, then hunkered down to wait.
I surfed TMZ and the L.A. Informer websites for the latest celebrity news. Harvested some pineapples on Farm Town. Checked what movies were playing downtown this weekend. Watched mudkiplover08’s latest video on YouTube. Took a blog poll about what brand of lip gloss tastes the best.
8:32.
Out of other time wasters,
“Mom!”
“Hartley, we have several witnesses that say you were upset after school yesterday,” Raley said, jumping in.
I narrowed my eyes. “Upset?”
“Angry.”
“Who said?”
“Witnesses.”
“You know teenagers—they tend to be a little overdramatic.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Considering the drama—overdone as it may have been—let’s say Josh knew how upset you were. Knew that you intended to confront Courtney, thought Courtney would come clean to you about their relationship. Let’s say he didn’t want that. Let’s say he decided Courtney needed to be kept quiet.”
I pursed my lips. Since he hadn’t phrased it as a question, I didn’t feel compelled to answer.
“Relationship? What relationship?” Mom asked.
As far as Mom knew, my entire relationship with Josh consisted of movies at the mall and holding hands at the school dances. I was pretty sure that she was as acquainted with denial as I was when it came to teen sex.
Which is why when Raley opened his mouth to answer, I jumped in first.
“Science partner! Courtney was working on a science project with him. About reproduction.”
Raley raised an eyebrow at me. But thankfully he let it go.
“Is it safe to send Hartley to school?” Mom asked. “Maybe I should keep her home for a few days.”
“I’m sure it’s safe for her to return to school.”
“But wasn’t she some sort of witness?”
“After the fact.”
“Do witnesses after the fact need witness protection?”
I rolled my eyes.
I could see Raley resisting the urge to do the same.
“I believe she’s safe, Mrs. Featherstone. This feels like an isolated incident.”
“I saw a TV show about this on Lifetime just the other day. The woman went into witness protection, but the killer found her anyway. What if the killer finds her anyway? What guarantee do you have that she’ll be safe?”
“I assure you that we’re doing all we can to find the person who committed this crime, Mrs. Featherstone.”
“You mean Josh.”
But Raley had mastered the art of noncommittal. “I’m sure once we talk to Mr. DuPont, he’ll be able to clear up quite a few things for us.”
You and me both, pal.
SEVEN
ONCE RALEY LEFT, MOM JUMPED RIGHT INTO THE kitchen, making me comfort food that she insisted I needed after my “harrowing brush with death.” I thought about telling her that rice noodle macaroni with soy cheese was not exactly my idea of comfort, but I figured it was easier to let her cook her anxiety away.
Not that that stopped her from going into overprotective mode with a vengeance when my dad called.
“She may need witness protection!” she yelled into the phone.
“I’m fine, Mom!” I said.
“She said she’s fine,” Mom relayed into the receiver, “but I don’t think she is. She looks pale.”
“I’m right here, you know.”
“I’m worried about her, Brian. I think maybe we should go away for a while. Maybe we should go stay at my mother’s.”
I did an internal shudder. I’d already spent four weeks this summer surrounded by Bengay and Polident. That was more than anyone deserved in one calendar year. “Mom, I’m fine, I swear,” I said, around a bite of mac and faux cheese. I shoveled more noodles into my mouth as if to prove my point. “See? Fine.”
A plate and a half later I finally managed to convince Mom I was duly comforted, not about to be hacked to death by my boyfr—er, ex- boyfriend—and fine to attend school tomorrow.
I rinsed my dishes off and hightailed it to my room to escape further coddling.
8:06.
I logged onto MySpace, just in case Josh was early, then hunkered down to wait.
I surfed TMZ and the L.A. Informer websites for the latest celebrity news. Harvested some pineapples on Farm Town. Checked what movies were playing downtown this weekend. Watched mudkiplover08’s latest video on YouTube. Took a blog poll about what brand of lip gloss tastes the best.
8:32.
Out of other time wasters,
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